Hopeful...

Teary drops slide slow down the gentle sloping of each of her silken petals.

She is wet with the night's rain and the now dense morning dew in drops. 

She is again slick, sleek and ponderously heavy with the water drop drop weight 

as it clings and it slides itself.

Awash in the grayness of the strongly filtered morning light she waits.
Cautious has become her nature, 

as the stem on which she is perched bends and sometimes trembles 

under the heavy weight of all that she is, 

and all that she has become.

© KAnniePowell

Where I am From

I am from dish pans, the (elbow) macaroni, hamburger and chopped tomato 
casserole and from 60's odd jello molds,

from German ingenuity and weekend trips up to the Wisconsin farm.

I am from the frozen Fox River and ice skating the long ice cracks to the edge of the marsh grass.

I am from large family gatherings at Grandpa’s house nearby where I lay on the floor day dreaming, invisible...and where I rushed in through the green kitchen screen door-slam, to pile high my Grandmother’s table full of sewing things…

I’m from the muskie out of Lake Winnebago that my Grandpa held and from ice fishing and the goose; from venison, from beer and from the brats. I think I’m from “My bologna has a first name, it's O-s-c-a-r. My bologna has a second name, it's M-a-y-e-r…”

I am from cloudy winter skies and from 'Wau-key-sha,' Fond-du-Lac, from Osh-kosh and Neenah-Men-ash-a…

I’m from the “Work hard and don’t complain,” “Before the snow flies…” and “Kill ‘em with kindness” bunch.

…From the land of “Now I lay me down to sleep” and the “Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made…” vacation Bible school.

I’m from my Grandfather’s bumping knee and his big black sedan; “Round, round the corner,” he would sing. I’m from cornfields and cow pastures. I’m from cheese curds and lime green jello with white pear pieces. And I am from plastic cheese.

…From the glass eye my Grandfather Alvin had, the fingers my great Uncle lost on the farm somehow and from the move my father made from the deep freeze to the deep south.

I am from under my Mom’s 60’s something dark wood end table 
...from a brown wooden box with hinges filled with old photos, mostly black and white, stuffed full every which way, photos of good spirited, hardworking staunch German relatives who looked straight at the camera. And I am from a more playful and romantic, kindhearted French lineage, too. I am from an orphanage. I am from the sky. I am from the farm.
I (now know) that I am from the notion...
that opposites attract.

(based upon the poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon done as an exercise)